The Arrival

At the airport, an Italian man stands waving a sign that reads "TEFL Rome." His name is Franco and his job is to drive me to my apartment. Not long into the drive, I begin to recognize the area.

"Abbiamo a Monteverde, si?"

"Sei mai stata qui prima?"

"C'era una volta..."

Monteverde is a residential area just outside the city center, most famous for being home to Villa Doria Pamphili, the largest public park in Rome. It's also home to my study abroad alma mater, the American University of Rome.

The giveaway is the flower shop. I wonder for a moment if Nassir from India still works there at night, or if he's moved on to bigger and better things.

"Io abitavo qua," I tell Franco, pointing to Via Giuseppe Dezza. I am happy to tell him this, but he seems disinterested. I suppose I can't blame him.

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This morning I awake early to the sound of an angry traffic. I try to be quiet so as not to wake my roommate, Suz, but noise can't be contained in these concrete structures. We have "breaky" (yes, that's Australian I'm speaking) and hit the streets. We have a lot of sight-seeing to do, and I want to shake the nostalgia so that I can move on from this sickness.

We take the 23 to Trastevere, my old stomping grounds. From there, I move fluidly, as if my legs still hold some drunken muscle memory of stumbling up to Via Dandolo and to the "Ti Amo" steps. I tell Suz about the steps and what they meant to me, to us, only to find that the message has been covered up in red and orange paint. Roma colors...

I remember sitting here for hours, iPod buds in my ears, listening to Tiziano Ferro's "Ti Scatterò una Foto" at full volume. The lyrics flood my head again:

E ti scorderai di me

Quando piove i profili e le case ricordano te

E sarà bellissimo

Perché gioia e dolore han lo stesso sapore con te

What a strange feeling, more empty than I've ever been, stripped of everything, left with nothing. Some events have to soak in before you realize the enormity. This was not one of them. When my mother passed away it was instant. I thought: "This is it. This is the first day of the rest of my life. This event has defined me in ways that I can't comprehend. I am the same person, but I am forever changed."

Vorrei soltanto che la notte ora velocemente andasse

E tutto ciò che hai di me di colpo non tornasse

E voglio amore e tutte le attenzioni che sai dare

E voglio indifferenza semmai mi vorrai ferire

My breath shortens as I complete the last flight of steps, and I look behind me and vow to leave that view there. I've conquered that steep concrete accordion for the last time.

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The kebab may not be native to Italy, but it has become very popular and earned its place in many a pizzeria. It came second on a list of things I needed to consume upon arrival. It's gone something like this so far:

1. Pizza e Nastro Azzurro

2. Kebab e Coca Cola Zero

3. Pistacchio Gelato

4. Un Caffè Latte

Beyond that, my first serious meal at our apartment consisted of penne con pesto, chicken, mushrooms, and fresh pecorino romano. Overall, I think it was a huge success, especially considering the fact that our kitchen is actually built into a wardrobe closet, and is consequently quite small.

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The city of Rome provides its citizens and visitors with fresh water in almost every major piazza. Quenching your thirst is the easy part. Relieving yourself of those excess fluids gets a bit tricky. Public restrooms, marked WC, are almost impossible to come by. In the rare event that a restaurant/shop/bar has a restroom, only customers may access them. It sounds like city planners have neglected to see the connection between free drinking water and the need for free public restrooms.

Tap water is perfectly safe to drink, but many locals and tourists alike prefer to drink bottled mineral water. That's too fancy for me.